Intricate Beauty
by Tatsumaki-sama
Summary: Omega Supreme never thought the scars on Optimus Prime would be so remarkable. ::More Than A Leader series::


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Transformers or any of its characters.

**This is part of the "More Than A Leader" series, which will be about Optimus Prime and his relationships with the Autobots. It will mostly on the view of the said Autobot and how they perceive Optimus, whether he is a hero, friend, fatherly figure, brother, leader or something else to them. **

**This one-shot can stand alone, without support or continuance from the other soon-to-come stories. You can read the stories in whatever order you wish.**

**Omega Supreme, at first, never struck me as any importance. He was just there, the giant, stoical guardian of the Autobots, who apparently didn't like to talk much. But after reading _"The Words Written At The Gate_", an amazing and beautiful story by _Chaotic Serenity_, I finally got some insight into Omega. So this is for and to Omega.

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**Intricate Beauty**

At first, he believed it to be a trick to the optics. It was faded, too distant for him to see from his height. But as Omega bent down for a closer look, he was now sure he wasn't seeing things.

Optimus Prime had scars.

Of course, everyone had scars. Especially soldiers like them. War took much from them. Innocence. Friends. Comrades. Leaders. Choices. Laughter. Tears. Freedom. Sanity. And yet it demanded one more thing for its grasp. To leave painful memories in the form of battle-wounds that never fully heal.

But he never thought that Optimus Prime, the great Autobot leader, would carry them.

When one heard the word "scar", they immediately thought of horrible, ugly injuries that delved deeper than metal alone, whether they be physical or emotional, digging right down to the soul of its wearer. It was a reminder in the most cruelest and most agonizing way. No matter how they scrubbed, scratched or clawed at it, scars did not disappear. They stubbornly lingered, a constant memento of failure and mistakes. However, that was not what Omega thinks of when he saw Optimus' scars.

They had an indescribable delicacy to them. Some soft and gentle. Others harsh, cruel and yet, still possessing their beauty. And each had a story to tell.

_I was careless_, one muttered in embarrassment.

_Mine was in an effort to save Bumblebee and Hound from an aerial attack by Starscream_, another proudly declared.

One shifted desolately, of regret and of lives lost and gone. _Megatron_ was all that it would say.

A casual wave of Optimus' hand revealed a number more, of indistinguishable shapes and formless images. The one on his thumb was like a crescent moon, flawlessly smooth and serpentine. Omega absently wondered what kind of weapon could leave such a perfect imperfection. Another was like a droplet hitting the edge of water, tiny beads spreading out everywhere. And in the center, a near complete circle, was at the base of his forefinger. Faint lines weaved aimlessly across Prime's palm, like rivers attempting to reach the ocean. A few more were hidden at his knuckles, shadowed and distant.

He saw his own scars and absently, he brushed a finger over them, still feeling the pain when the claws, bullets or swords had grazed, pierced and hacked through metal, bitterly reminding him of how he failed, failed, failed. That he disappointed his friends and comrades. That he was unable to save any more lives and was able to end many of them.

Suddenly, almost involuntarily, he clenched his fist, seeing the ripples and waves of scars. They were ugly, disgusting and sickening. He couldn't bear to look at them without feeling the urge to rip them from his skin. They clung to him, a festering, suffocating grip on him, refusing to let him go. He wished he didn't have them, wished that they never existed, wished he could breath in peace for just one minute -

" Omega?"

Starting in surprise, something that was odd for the usually reserved mech, he slowly turned to look at Optimus. " Is something the matter?" he asked, tilting his head, optics sparking in concern. " You've been staring at my hands for some time now."

He briefly hesitated. He wondered if he should tell Optimus. Would he understand?

" Scars," he rumbled softly in reply, pointing. He paused before saying one more word. " Hurt," he murmured, a barely inaudible breath across the air.

Optimus nodded, grasping what Omega wanted to say. " I'd almost forgotten about them." He flexed his fingers gingerly, glancing down at the scars himself, gazing at them with a look that appeared to be torn between amusement and revulsion. " Some of them, I am not proud of," he admitted, grimacing at the mere thought of them. His optics were momentarily clouded over by some old bitterness and guilt.

" But some of them, I am proud of." His voice grew louder, no longer wallowing in self-pity and pain. " At the cost of gaining these scars, I was able to protect others. For what they are worth, I would gladly do it again."

There was a silence. Optimus bowed his head, a deep sigh racking through his great fame, as if relieved to remove a heavy burden from himself. For his part, Omega waited patiently for his commander to continue. " They may shape us," Optimus finally said. " But they don't define us. Right, Omega?"

Rather surprised to hear a stubbornness and intensity behind those last few words, Omega was looking at Optimus as if he was seeing his leader for the first time. There was a rigidity around Optimus' jaw, a determined set about his face. He was sitting straight and uptight, head held high, appearing every inch of a leader and commander that he is. Now, Omega realized why Optimus' scars didn't dominate and loom over him. They had faded into the background because Optimus had accepted them, accepted them for what they were and accepted the price he had paid for them. And once that had happened, the scars weren't as revolting and dreadful.

" Yes," he heard himself say, drinking in Optimus' words. " I agree."

And he meant every single word he said.

Smiling softly, knowing that his listener understood, Optimus returned to light chatter and casual conversation. After a while, Omega's gaze inevitably slid back to the scars, both of his own and of Optimus'. His hand twitched and he could clearly see one of the scars on it. It was shaped like a flutter of wings, outspread and wide.

They looked beautiful.


End file.
